Chapter 47: Financing It
The idea stayed with Richard for three days.
Not the condominium itself.
That decision had quietly settled somewhere in the back of his mind the moment he stood in front of those floor-to-ceiling windows and imagined his mother watching rain move across the skyline without worrying whether floodwater would enter the house before midnight.
No, what occupied his thoughts was something else entirely.
How he intended to pay for it.
Objectively, the answer was simple enough.
He could pay for the entire unit in cash if he wanted to.
The condominium cost twenty-eight million pesos. Phoenix Auto Trading’s accounts held several times that amount, and writing a check would solve the problem before lunch.
Yet every time he considered doing it, the businessman inside him resisted.
Thirty million pesos sitting inside a bank account wasn’t just money.
It was inventory waiting to be purchased, opportunities waiting to be seized, and expansion projects waiting for capital. The dealership was growing quickly enough that liquidity mattered almost as much as profitability, and locking a large amount of cash into a single asset, even one as important as a family home, felt inefficient.
That left financing.
Ironically, that option felt even stranger.
Not because qualification worried him.
Because a year earlier the idea of applying for a housing loan large enough to purchase a luxury condominium would have sounded absurd.
Back then he repaired phones in Divisoria.
His declared income probably wouldn’t have qualified him for the parking slot.
Life had changed quickly.
Sometimes too quickly.
By Wednesday morning, Richard found himself sitting inside one of the larger branches of a major commercial bank in Quezon City.
The lobby smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood while customers moved between counters and relationship managers escorted clients toward consultation rooms deeper inside the building.
Richard glanced down at the leather folder resting on his lap.
Business permits.
SEC registration documents.
Articles of incorporation.
Bank statements.
Audited financial reports.
Income tax returns.
VAT filings.
Ownership documents for Phoenix Auto Trading.
The folder wasn’t particularly heavy, but holding it still felt strangely significant.
Every document represented a version of his life that hadn’t existed eighteen months earlier.
A receptionist eventually approached him.
"Good morning, sir. Ms. Reyes will see you now."
Richard stood and followed her toward one of the consultation offices.
The woman waiting inside looked to be in her late thirties and carried herself with the calm confidence common among bankers who regularly dealt with transactions larger than most people’s lifetime savings.
"Good morning, Mr. Apostol."
"Good morning."
After a brief handshake, both of them took their seats.
"I understand you’re interested in financing a residential condominium purchase."
"Yes."
She opened her notebook.
"May I ask the approximate value of the property?"
"Twenty-eight million pesos."
The banker nodded without visible reaction.
Clearly she heard figures like that regularly.
"And the amount you’re considering financing?"
Richard thought about it for a moment.
"Approximately fifty percent."
That finally earned a slight change in expression.
"So around fourteen million pesos."
"Somewhere around that."
Most clients pursued maximum financing percentages whenever possible. Customers voluntarily reducing exposure by half generally belonged to a very different risk category.
Ms. Reyes smiled politely.
"That should certainly be possible assuming income qualifications are met."
Richard returned the smile.
"I don’t think that’ll be a problem."
She had probably heard those exact words hundreds of times from applicants who dramatically overestimated their finances.
Fortunately, Richard had documentation.
Literal documentation.
He slid the folder across the desk.
The relationship manager opened it casually.
Then slowed down.
Her eyes moved across the first page.
Then the second.
Then the third.
The change was subtle, but it was there.
The second glance at certain figures.
The slightly longer pause on particular statements.
The quiet recalculation happening behind professional composure.
"Phoenix Auto Trading belongs to you?" she asked.
"Yes."
She glanced back at the paperwork.
"The luxury dealership in Valenzuela?"
Richard nodded.
"That’s right."
Recognition appeared immediately.
Apparently the marketing department had earned its salary.
"I’ve seen your advertisements online."
"We’ve been investing heavily in branding."
"I can tell."
She continued reading.
Financial statements.
Tax returns.
Corporate bank balances.
Sales reports.
VAT declarations.
Everything was complete.
Everything matched.
Everything was legitimate.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Richard fully appreciated the advantages of operating a real business instead of hiding income or avoiding taxes.
Eventually she reached the latest tax filings.
Her eyebrows rose slightly.
"Your declared revenue last fiscal year exceeded three hundred million pesos."
"Yes."
The answer still sounded ridiculous even to him.
She looked up.
"That’s impressive growth for a relatively young dealership."
Richard smiled.
"We had a good year."
Technically true.
Massively understated.
Still true.
Several minutes later she finally closed the folder.
"Mr. Apostol, I don’t think qualification will be an issue."
That was reassuring to hear.
More reassuring than he expected.
She folded her hands together on the desk.
"May I ask why you’re financing instead of purchasing outright?"
Richard laughed quietly.
"I assume the account balances answered that question."
"They certainly suggest it’s possible."
"Liquidity."
Understanding appeared immediately.
"Inventory generates returns," she said.
"Exactly."
"A condominium doesn’t."
Richard nodded.
"Keeping capital moving generally produces better outcomes than locking it into property."
She smiled.
"You’re thinking like a businessman."
"I own a dealership. It’s difficult to avoid."
The conversation became considerably easier after that.
They moved on to interest rates, repayment terms, insurance requirements, prepayment options, and collateral structures.
Ironically, Richard found the discussion more comfortable than expected.
Finance wasn’t engineering, but numbers were still numbers.
Variables remained variables.
Optimization remained optimization.
Eventually she rotated the monitor toward him.
Several financing structures appeared on the screen.
Ten years.
Fifteen years.
Twenty years.
Monthly obligations adjusted accordingly.
Richard studied the numbers carefully.
The payments were significant.
Yet compared to the dealership’s monthly cash flow, they looked surprisingly manageable.
That realization felt stranger than the numbers themselves.
The banker noticed his expression.
"Most clients become nervous at this stage."
Richard smiled slightly.
"A year ago I would have been terrified."
"And today?"
"Today I’m trying to decide whether fifteen years makes more sense than ten."
That earned a laugh.
The meeting lasted nearly ninety minutes.
By the time it ended, preliminary approval seemed more or less inevitable. The bank would still conduct appraisals, verification procedures, and additional due diligence, but none of it sounded particularly concerning.
As Richard stood to leave, Ms. Reyes handed the folder back to him.
"Can I ask something slightly personal?"
"Go ahead."
"Are you planning to live there yourself?"
The question caught him slightly off guard.
Most people probably assumed it was another investment property.
Another addition to an expanding portfolio.
"Yes," he said after a moment.
"For my family."
The banker smiled.
"Those are usually the best purchases."
Richard thanked her and stepped back outside.
The afternoon traffic of Quezon City continued moving as though nothing significant had happened.
Yet something had changed.
For the first time in his life, a bank had looked at his financial history and decided he represented stability rather than risk.
Growing up in Happyland taught people certain assumptions about money.
Banks belonged to other people.
Loans belonged to other people.
Property ownership belonged to other people.
People like them rented.
People like them worried about next month’s bills.
People like them didn’t sit inside private consultation rooms discussing eight-figure housing loans.
Apparently life had other plans.
His phone vibrated as he reached the parking structure.
Angela had sent him a message.
Kuya, are you coming home this weekend?
Richard stared at the screen for several moments before replying.
Yeah.
I have something I want to show you and Mom.
The typing indicator appeared almost immediately.
Food?
Richard laughed.
Of course that would be her first question.
Maybe.
The reply arrived instantly.
Then yes.
Richard slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked toward the skyline rising above the city.
The condominium wasn’t theirs yet.
The bank still had procedures to finish.
His mother still needed to see the unit.
Angela still needed to argue over bedrooms.
There were still steps left to take.
But for the first time, the path ahead looked clear.
And somehow that felt more valuable than any luxury vehicle sitting inside his showroom.